


triptych

by Marcia Elena (marciaelena)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Community: spnspringfling, Established Relationship, Future Fic, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Sibling Incest, Supernatural Spring Fling, Supernatural Spring Fling 2019
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-17
Updated: 2019-04-17
Packaged: 2020-01-15 09:32:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18496204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marciaelena/pseuds/Marcia%20Elena
Summary: Hold on tight.





	triptych

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the 2019 SPN Spring Fling challenge, for shifty_gardener. All three prompts appear as section headers in the fic. Set in 2023.

**i.** _the road doesn't stop for anyone_

U.S. 50 rolls out before them as if neverending, a desolate highway linking east to west across the Nevada desert. There's a truck stop up ahead, an oasis of light shining like a beacon in the deep blue twilight. Dean drives past it without a second glance, but Sam's gaze lingers on the reflection in the side-view mirror, holds on to that warm glow until it fades into nothing. 

It's many miles later when Dean takes the Impala off the road. Sam's aching to stretch his legs, but he stays in his seat as the car comes to a stop. 

It's lonely out here. Here, in the middle of nowhere, there's only the desert and the sky. 

"Beer?" Dean asks.

"I'm good for now." 

Dean taps his fingers against the steering wheel in a halting, aimless rhythm. Silence rushes in to fill the spaces where words should go.

"You sure you don't want a beer? 'Cause I'm pretty thirsty."

Sam rolls his eyes. "Yeah, all right." 

The vinyl complains under Dean's weight when he leans to reach the cooler in the back seat. Sam grabs the bottle that's offered to him, hand brushing against his brother's. 

If they don't talk now at least there's the excuse of their mouths being busy with something else. 

The engine ticks at intervals, bleeding residual heat into the night. The bottle feels cold in Sam's hand, cold against his thigh even through his jeans, and Sam imagines the damp ring of condensation forming there. His breaths mingle with Dean's inside the car, fogging up the windows. 

Sam's phone vibrates inside his jacket pocket. "Showtime," he says softly.

The moonless night greets Sam with icy fingers when he steps out into the desert. He stands alone in the dark and listens as the door on the driver's side slams shut, listens as Dean unzips and takes a leak. Sam walks a few feet away from the Impala and follows suit. 

Back by the car Dean wraps a blanket around Sam's shoulders. "Last thing I need is you gettin' sick on me." He tries to sound annoyed, but Sam hears the tenderness underneath it all the same.

"Where's your blanket?"

Dean shrugs. "Only brought the one."

"Typical." Sam pulls Dean to him, wraps the blanket around them both. "How lucky for you that I'm in the mood to share."

"Huh," Dean murmurs, breath puffing against Sam's neck. Their bodies press close, closer, Dean's hands resting on Sam's hips. "Wouldn't have guessed that, what with all the extra bitchiness today."

"Dean," Sam says. "You know my mind's already working on those interviews we're doing tomorrow."

"I know." And there's that tenderness again, naked and shivering out in the open like this. 

Dean's lips are right against Sam's now. Nothing to do but let him in. 

They trade slow, lingering kisses. Warmth pools in the pit of Sam's stomach, spreads through him until no part of him can register the cold anymore. 

When they pull apart the late April sky is burning bright with the Lyrids. Dean turns in Sam's arms and they watch the meteor shower together, Sam leaning against the car and Dean leaning against him, the two of them sharing the blanket, sharing their body heat. 

Behind them, shrouded in darkness, the road waits.

 

 **ii.** _I did what I had to do, what you needed me to do_

"It's done," Dean's saying. "You can be mad all you want, but it's done. I took care of it." 

Sam paces the length of their motel room, back and forth, back and forth, bristling like a caged animal. Dean's voice sounds all wrong coming through the cell phone's speakers, small and shaky and much too far away. 

"Why, Dean? We hunt together or not at all, isn't that how it's supposed to be? Now all of a sudden you don't think I can handle myself? After everything we've been through? After losing Dad again, then Mom, after losing _Jack_ -"

"It ain't about that. I know you're more than capable, Sammy."

"Don't," Sam says. "Don't you _Sammy_ me. I fucking hate your guts right now."

The line on the other end goes quiet, as if Dean's holding his breath. "All of the vics were kids, Sam."

"Like I didn't know that? I'm the one who found this case, remember?"

"I just- I didn't want you dealin' with any of that, okay? Definitely not with the bodies that were still in the morgue. And having to talk to the parents wasn't what I'd call easy, either." 

"I'll be forty years old next week, Dean! I'm not a helpless baby and I'm not fragile. I don't need you to protect me."

 _I'll be one hundred and ninety years old next week_ , Sam thinks. It's not a thought he can hold in his mind for too long; the dissonance is too great. Sam can't be older than Dean. Dean's his big brother. Dean's always gonna be his big brother. 

"Dean?" Sam tries when the quiet on the other end stretches out for too long. "Where are you? How long until you get here?"

"I'm there right now," Dean says, and Sam hears the unmistakable rumble of the Impala's engine out in the parking lot. "I'm here, Sam. Right here."

Sam rushes out of their room just as Dean's spilling out onto the tarmac, his legs giving way under him. He's bloody all over.

Later, Sam won't remember closing the distance between him and Dean. He won't remember dragging his brother into the room, will barely remember cutting Dean's ruined clothes open to get to his wounds. 

What he'll remember is the clammy feel of Dean's skin under his hands, the thready pulse in Dean's neck that lets Sam know he's not giving up. 

What he won't forget (not later, not ever) is the sheer loss that's been lodged inside him ever since the bunker burned down, the lifelong terror of one day calling Dean's name and getting no answer at all. 

 

 **iii.** _an endless storm_

For three consecutive days Sam watches snowflakes swirl outside the window. For three consecutive nights he dreams of the Great Red Spot on Jupiter, the monster storm that's been raging there, unbroken, for at least a hundred and ninety three years. 

_Older than me_ , Sam thinks when he's half awake. The wind howls as if in mourning, knocks against the motel's doors and windows as if begging to come inside. _That storm is older than me_. 

It's noon on day four when Dean's fever breaks. Sam helps him into the shower, stands right there with him as his brother washes sour-smelling sweat from his hair and his body. He throws his soaking wet clothes on the bathroom floor and pats Dean dry, makes Dean sit down at the kitchenette table while he changes the bed sheets. 

"You wanna come back to bed? Or maybe you wanna eat something."

"Maybe later." Dean wobbles slightly when he stands up, and Sam hovers close but allows him to walk back to bed unassisted. 

Sam hands Dean a glass of water and a couple of tablets; Dean takes the antibiotics but leaves the ibuprofen on the bedside table. He strokes Dean's forehead, runs his fingers through Dean's hair. The pain that flares in Dean's eyes is not the kind that can be relieved by medication.

Once Sam's done redressing Dean's wounds there's a patchwork of bandages decorating Dean's chest and back; entire constellations of freckles disappear beneath tape and gauze, like stars behind heavy clouds. "I need to go out for a while. We're running low on supplies."

"In this weather?"

"It's just snow, Dean. I'll be fine."

"My baby's not made for snow," Dean murmurs, and for an instant Sam's not sure if Dean's talking about the car or about him. 

"She'll be fine too," Sam reassures him. 

Dean sighs. "Get in bed with me, Sammy."

So Sam does. He climbs under the covers and Dean shifts closer, tugs on Sam's arm until he has Sam wrapped around him like a vine. 

"Since when are you so eager to cuddle?"

"Since when are you so eager to _not_?"

Sam lets out a humorless laugh. "You're trying to distract me."

"Am not," Dean protests. He closes his eyes, takes a deep, shuddering breath. "I know I screwed up."

"Look at me." Sam waits for Dean to do as he says. "If you ever drug me and ditch me again I'll never forgive you."

"Fair," Dean whispers.

"If you get killed without me I'll never forgive you either."

"Hey, tha-"

Sam shuts Dean up with a kiss. It's a bruising kiss, all grief and fear and breathless desperation. Dean gives in completely, goes pliant and sweet in Sam's arms and Sam hurts him on purpose, just a little. Just because he can. 

On distant Jupiter, the largest storm in the solar system picks up speed. 

In a small town in Nevada, two brothers (two lovers) hold on to each other as if their lives depend on it. 

***


End file.
